


Anchor

by Mierin



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Gender-neutral Reader, M/M, Tony-centric, but it ends in fluff, but still in second person, cross-posted on tumblr and dA, there are some mentions of unrequited reader x thor, this fic starts out rather angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 19:12:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9621668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mierin/pseuds/Mierin
Summary: “___, stop,” he says, cutting you off mid-sentence, but trying his hardest to keep his voice soft, his words gentle, trying and succeeding, “I’m sorry. You don’t owe me an explanation. We can just never talk about this, pretend it didn’t happen. Just go back to how we used to be.”“That’s not what…” you trail off, hesitant, eyes flashing down to the floor, clasping your hands together so tight that he can see the shapes of your knuckles, raised through taut skin.And he finds that he has to fight rather hard to push down the urge to walk up to you and take you in his arms, fight to remind himself that you don’t want that, don’t want him.





	

“He broke me, Tony,” you admit, as much to yourself as to him, voice barely a whisper, and he realizes with a jolt that of all things, you sound almost amazed, “Or no, he did nothing, I broke myself over him, and it was so easy, so unavoidable.”

You look at him then, really look, eyes wide and trusting despite being filled with pain. Somehow, you think he knows how you can fix yourself. He doesn’t. But he tries, dear god, he tries.

You are warm in his arms when he draws you close and as the seconds pass you stop trembling, and slowly, ever so slowly, the grip of your hands on him loosens.

“Don’t say that, ___,” he tells you, words whispered into your hair, “This isn’t your fault. It’s his loss.”

“But don’t you see? It’s not enough for me to love him.”

He knows what you mean, of course, knows that you’re saying your love for Thor has no value because the man doesn’t feel the same about you.

But he doesn’t understand it, doesn’t agree, because loving you has been enough for him, been enough through the long years you’ve known each other.

“It doesn’t matter, ___,” he says finally, trying his best to sound firm, convincing, “you just have to hang in there. And someday soon, all this, the sadness, the pain, it’ll fade, like a bad dream.”

“You really think so?” you ask him, after a long minute passes in silence. And there’s something vulnerable about your wide eyed gaze that has him transfixed.

“Yeah, I really do,” he replies, a small smile curving his lips, and before you can ask him any more tough questions, he pulls you close again, wrapping you in his arms and holding you tight, as if that very act could help chase away all the demons that haunt you.

X

Tony takes you to bed months later, on a freezing night halfway through January. Or maybe you’re the one who does the taking. Either way, neither of you is anything but eager, and there’s a certain inevitability to it that he doesn’t fail to appreciate.

It’s been a long day and when you had both met the rest of the team for lunch, you had spent the entire meal very obviously not looking at Thor, or the way he and Jane practically gravitated towards each other. Any progress you had made towards getting over the man seemingly destroyed.

And Tony had known, the moment he’d realized what you were doing, he had known that the day wouldn’t end easy for you.

Returning to Stark Tower is easy but in the evening you disappear for one of your long walks, the kind you usually love because it’s snowing outside and the weather’s just right and everything’s pretty.

You’re not smiling when you come back but you’re also no longer on the verge of collapse and Tony breathes easier for it. Because every time he has to watch you destroy yourself over the blonde demigod, his heart clenches almost painfully and he finds himself caught in the grasp of some faint echoes of your agony.

But that’s the last of his predictions for the day that come true because the first thing you do when you walk into his lab is stride unfaltering up to him, face taut with an expression he’s never seen on you before, and your hands are firm on his shoulders as you go in for a kiss that doesn’t have a single trace of hesitation.

You’re using him, he knows, using him to distract yourself from the thoughts and images that threaten to consume you whole.

And he doesn’t care, god help him, he knows he should, but it’s the farthest thing from his mind as you tug him out of the lab, into the elevator, out, and through the halls to your room.

He’s not entirely surprised either, because he knows you’re attracted to him, and he’s glad that you’ve come to him for this instead of getting smashed and picking up some stranger in a bar.

But there is a moment- you stumble after him into his room and nearly slam the door shut and when he backs you into it, you go willingly, letting him cage you there, tugging him flush against your body with insistent hands, pushing your hips into his.

And you’re already breathless and gasping and ever so pliant in his arms. So with his eyes shut and his lips trailing along your neck and lower, he wonders if you realize that he’s thinking of you as a lover, something he’s never thought of anyone else before.

It makes him hesitate, makes him freeze in place, his lips pressed to the hollow in your collarbone. So he pulls away and waits for you to open your eyes and look at him.

“Tony, please-” you whisper, sounding strangely desperate, and when he looks into your eyes, pupils blown wide, and rapidly filling with something approaching guilt, he finds his answer.

It’s barely a glimpse, but he can tell- you know, and you don’t love him, but in this moment, he doesn’t think you love anyone else either.

“Tony,” you begin again, voice breaking over his name, pulling him out of his thoughts, “I need _you-”_

“Shh,” he presses his fingers to your lips, stopping you before you can say any more, because he doesn’t think he can take the sound of you begging, not for him, not like this, “whatever you need sweetheart.”

For a minute you stare at him, silent, thinking, and with a sudden flare of panic, he realizes that you’re about to pull away, that something’s changed.

“___, I want this just as much as you do,” he tells you, and this time, it is his voice that breaks.

And just like that, you wrap your hands in his hair and pull him down till his head is bowed over yours and your mouth presses against his, hot and demanding, and more teeth than tongue.

So he closes his eyes, giving as good as he gets, and lets go. It’s enough. For now. Maybe forever.

Because the name on your lips is his.

X

Tony wakes up with empty arms, tangled in cold sheets and he panics just a little before he sits up and his eyes land on your sun-drenched form by the window. And for a minute, he feels happy, before he realizes that you’re pacing and something is very obviously wrong.

“___, what is it?” he asks, and you stop immediately, your back towards him, “what’s going on?”

“I’m sorry,” you say, finally turning to face him, and your eyes are puffy, your nose red, your hands trembling at your sides, and it couldn’t be any more obvious that you’ve been crying.

He is jolting forward off the bed and reaching for you before he can even properly think about what he’s doing. Just as quick, you step back, eyes widening, breath hitching, looking almost panicked- it’s more effective than if you had physically pushed him away.

And he stops in his tracks, not completely understanding why his heart suddenly hurts hurts hurts, more than it ever has before.

“Tony, I-” you begin, and he thinks he finally recognizes that infernal thing in your eyes for what it is, regret. And anger flares through him in response, white-hot and demanding to be felt, how could he have been so stupid as to think that you would consider last night as anything other than a mistake. Anger at himself, for daring to hope that this could be the first step to earning a place in your heart.

“___, stop,” he says, cutting you off mid-sentence, but trying his hardest to keep his voice soft, his words gentle, trying and succeeding, “ _I’m_ sorry. You don’t owe me an explanation. We can just never talk about this, pretend it didn’t happen. Just go back to how we used to be.”

“That’s not what...” you trail off, hesitant, eyes flashing down to the floor, clasping your hands together so tight that he can see the shapes of your knuckles, raised through taut skin.

And he finds that he has to fight rather hard to push down the urge to walk up to you and take you in his arms, fight to remind himself that you don’t want that, don’t want him.

“Is that what you want?” you ask suddenly, wrenching him out of his rapidly spiraling thoughts, “tell me the truth, Tony, because I heard what you said last night, after, that you love me. I heard. So which one is it? Do you love me? Or do you want to forget about last night? Or is it both?”

It takes him a minute just to process what you’ve said, to realize that there’s no easy way out of this. No way to go back to hiding his feelings for you.

“And what if I do love you? ___, tell me the truth. Would that change anything?” he asks, and his heart is beating faster and damn it, he’s hoping again, hoping despite the fact that he knows his next words are the truth, “Because I do. But I know you don’t feel the same about me.”

“Then I’ll just say what I was going to in the first place, shall I? I rehearsed a whole speech before you woke up.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, I was going to say that I’m sorry that last night happened the way it did, that I’m sorry I forced things, but I don’t regret the sex. I don’t regret hearing you say that you loved me. And I really don’t want to pretend that it never happened. Because I may not love you today, Tony, and you deserve someone who does, gods, you wonderful man, you deserve someone so much better than me. But you’re more a part of me than anyone else, and I know I care more about you than anyone else in the world. And I know I want you. So I guess what I want to ask is, would you be willing to give me a chance, to give me time? Because I am falling in love with you, Tony, and- and well, I’ll try my best to be worthy of you.”

He’s smiling long before you finish, smiling rather like a maniac, he knows, because his cheeks are beginning to hurt, and he also kind of wants to cry. And his heart feels lighter than it has in months, years even.

“Yes,” he tells you, walking towards you, finally, and sweeping you into his arms, finally, and your smile is starting to grow just as wide as his, “and ___, you forced nothing, so take all the time you need, because you’re already more than worthy of me.”

“Okay,” you breathe, “Okay, thank you, Tony. Thank you.”

Your hands on his face are ever so gentle and you’re laughing a little, tears in your eyes, and he thinks he wants to remember you like this, happy and hopeful, forever.

And on a whim, he picks you up, and spins you around and you kiss him, laughing still, before your feet have touched the ground, and he thinks that this is it, happiness tastes like this, like you. Of course.

  


**Author's Note:**

> This is rather different from my other fics but I rather enjoyed writing it and I think I'm quite happy with how it turned out.
> 
> Also, the title is for the song by Novo Amor.


End file.
